Seducing Cat

By Korinthia A Klein

Catherine (Cat) Devin is a successful writer with a loving husband, a teenage daughter and a nice life, but she is also about to turn 40. Under normal circumstances she would never consider cheating on her husband, but when a handsome young actor offers to play one of the characters she’s created so she can experience what she wrote for re

• Language: English
• Publisher: Korinthian Violins
• Release date: Jul 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9780578553726

Korinthia A Klein

Korinthia Klein is a writer, luthier, and musician living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. She runs a violin store with her husband, is lucky to be the mother of three wonderful kids, and will solve your Rubik's Cube for you if you haven't rearranged the stickers.

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SEDUCING CAT

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Copyright © 2019 Korinthia A. Klein All rights reserved.

Cover art by Karen Anne Klein

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locales, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are being used fictitiously. Any resemblance to places, events, or people living or dead are coincidental.

Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

ISBN:  9781094685182

Manufactured in the United States of America

SEDUCING CAT

a novel by

Korinthia A. Klein

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DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my husband, who understands what the word fiction means,

 and knows he has nothing to worry about.

CHAPTER ONE

The naked people were a surprise. As the young couple ran across the stage, Cat noted that a woman's naked body tended to elicit scrutiny but a man's, laughter; even if the man's body in question was gorgeous, and this one was. Had there been a notice about nudity in the handbill for this production at the Avenue Repertory Theater? She didn't remember one, but it had been fun to be startled. It was her first time seeing The Play About the Baby  by Edward Albee and it was strange. Cat was fascinated, but after the young actors were done chasing each other giddily in the altogether and had donned some basic pajamas, she wondered if her husband Nick was uncomfortable, or even following any of it very well. She was glad they’d left their 14-year-old daughter at home.

As the actors took their final bows Cat got to her feet. Nick did too, but to begin putting on his coat, not as part of an ovation. Cat had a million thoughts circling around in her head, and to work through them she needed to put them into words. She started talking in Nick's general direction afterward about the subtle use of the lighting and how clever some of the blocking had been considering the shape of the stage. About halfway on the long walk to their car she realized Nick hadn't said a word.

So, I've just been babbling on and on since the theater! What did you think? she asked with interest.

It was good, Nick said.

Just good?

Well, it was nice to go out. Going out with you is always fun.

We could have walked around the block and accomplished that! Cat laughed. I want to know, I mean, didn’t you like it?

Nick managed to frown and smile at the same time. There were a lot of funny parts, especially in the first act. I wasn’t expecting that, so that was good.

Sure it was funny, but it was way more than that, even in the first act. She stopped walking and looked at her husband. You didn’t like it, did you?

Nick shook his head a little. "I wouldn’t go that far. I did like it, but....It...Cat, it was weird ."

Of course it was weird! Weird is challenging.

I suppose. Give me a chance to think about it for a while, all right?

Cat had been disappointed but not surprised. Asking Nick to the play with her was a bit like his asking Cat to watch NASCAR with him. She seldom got out to events like plays but this one had sounded too interesting in the reviews to pass up. Cat didn’t know who else to go with, so Nick had obligingly accompanied her.

What didn’t you get? she wanted to know.

I don’t know. Any of it, really. Was there a baby or wasn’t there? How can anyone not know they had a baby?

That’s not the point, Nick. Look, the baby represents the idea of innocence. The Man and the Woman represent time and experience. When they come to take the baby away from the Boy and the Girl, it’s simply a way of illustrating that time and experience rob us of our innocence.

But what was all that with the guy’s arm and the weird stuff the Woman kept carrying on about? And that whole thing with the Man holding down the Boy? What did any of that have to do with the story?

I'm pretty sure that was ho— but as she looked at Nick's face she decided against finishing the word homoeroticism. Just...never mind. Next time we’ll go to a movie and you can pick it out, okay? I’ll even see some shoot ‘em up thing where everything explodes and people die two days before retirement and we’ll call it even.

Hey, Cat, I’m trying, here! I’m sorry I don’t pick up on the same things you do, but don’t I get a little credit for making the effort? He took her hand and gave her a small smile. Can we at least agree dinner was nice?

She smiled back. I guess, she said rolling her eyes in a perfect imitation of their daughter.

Nick laughed and swung her arm gently in the cold February air as they walked the last few steps toward the car. They didn't discuss the play again, but Cat was obsessed.

Cat was 39 and not looking forward to turning 40 in the fall. She found herself reevaluating nearly everything about her life, and the play seemed to touch on all of her hot button issues at once. Some of them she didn’t even know if the play was intended to address, but they spoke to her. She wanted to discuss it with someone to work out her thoughts, but that wasn't going to happen. She'd have to work out those ideas in her novels instead.

The first thing she wanted to sort through was the shifting connection between sex and age that the play exploited. That was something she hadn't considered too deeply, but as they walked toward their house in silence except for the crunching of old snow beneath their feet, she began to.

She didn't think of herself as being that different from who she was in college even though those days were long behind her. She'd been cautious then, and had thought she was putting off sex for all the best reasons. There was the risk of pregnancy and disease to start with, and lots of emotional complications to worry about. Cat didn’t necessarily believe in the idea of no sex until after marriage, but the idea of sex without love seemed empty and pointless. If someone were going to be so close to her as to actually be inside her body, it should be someone she wanted to feel that intimate with on every level. That sounded right to her, and special and sane. She wanted her parents to be proud of her and all of her right decisions, even the ones they wouldn't know about.

Now when Cat thought about it, her choices about sex (or lack thereof) reeked of fear. Why couldn’t she have had sex simply for the pure physical experience of having sex? It didn’t seem that big a deal to her now. Maybe it was unrealistic for her to think she ever could have had the temperament to do that, but now it only looked like lots of lost opportunity to her. Nick was gentle and nice and she liked sleeping with him, but he was Nick every time. She knew Nick. She was curious about men who were simply not Nick. If she’d experimented, she would have something to compare the experience to. Surely other bodies felt good in other ways, and she would never know that and it bugged her.

Watching Girl on the stage made Cat reassess the power she herself must have possessed at that age and never fully appreciated. She had known she was acceptable in appearance when she was young. She didn’t have any hideous scars or a hump, so that was a plus. But she seldom felt pretty. There were rare, perfect occasions where she would be in the right outfit and her hair did what she wanted for a change, and she would feel radiant for minutes at a time. However, most of her life was spent spotting flaws when she looked in the mirror and wishing she were bigger in one place and smaller in another. Or just better, so she was always looking for a different eyeliner or fussing with hair removal or hoping this new fill-in-the-blank product would be the answer. Now she saw how alluring youth was with no help at all. At one time that had been her and she hadn’t noticed. She had possessed great power and had never wielded it.

But was it really power? That was the part that confused her now, because at the time she knew as she walked on campus in a tank top and shorts in the hot spring weather, that she felt more like a target than anything else. Men looked at her and she seldom felt flattered, and when she did feel flattered that became muddled with self-esteem issues. She was insulted by the idea of guys who would sleep with her and care nothing about her. Her mind mattered, and who she was mattered, and the package shouldn’t since it was not much in her control.

But the package did matter. She saw Boy on the stage and it physically hurt to know he was out of reach, but how shallow was that? She didn’t know him, she simply liked his body. And now she wished someone like him would look at her body the same way. Was she crazy? She’d spent her whole life championing the idea that inner beauty was what counted, and that age was irrelevant since it was your mind and your heart that others should see. If her grandmother were still alive, Cat would call her and apologize for ever spouting such rubbish in front of her. It was easy to be idealistic and generous from a youthful, beautiful podium. Not so easy to hear when the concept of your having sex could be a joke to the rest of the world.

Cat saw The Play About the Baby  a total of five times, which was nearly half its run. She felt like some kind of addict, and she had the thing almost completely memorized at that point. The absurdist world being portrayed became less bizarre with repetition. When she no longer had to adapt to the odd premise she was free to enjoy the small details, and every time she saw it she discovered something new.

On closing night Cat was reluctant to let the experience go, and decided to congratulate the director. She thought he might appreciate the compliments she had to offer, but mostly she wasn’t ready to walk out of the space that had struck such a chord with her.

Cat was not naturally extroverted, but she could fake it if she knew being shy might prevent her from an experience that interested her. She made her way to the space near the area backstage, but didn’t want to intrude. The four actors were still milling about, the two women still holding bouquets of flowers they’d been handed at the last curtain call, and there were friends and family excitedly lavishing them with praise and smiles.

Excuse me, said a stagehand. Cat realized she was blocking access to a nest of cords nearby that apparently needed to be addressed.

Sorry! she said as she stepped aside, first the wrong way, then the direction he preferred her to go. Is the director around? He pointed her toward an older man with a neatly trimmed beard wearing khakis and a black shirt. He was thanking two older women in expensive jewelry, and Cat decided to hover nearby until he was available.

The more formidable looking of the two women was talking to the director as he nodded repeatedly. It was so interesting, she said, in the later scenes how dreadfully unkind the Man and Woman were. Envious I think. It's as if they could barely tolerate that anyone else still got to be young and beautiful. Since they couldn’t go back they practically hazed others into their fraternity of pain and despair! Don't you think, Nannette?

The director turned his patient smile toward the other woman who, when she realized she was expected to speak asked, So did those two people have to rehearse naked, too? Does that get cold?        

Cat stifled a laugh which caused the director to glance briefly her way before he turned his attention back to the first woman who continued on, markedly ignoring Nannette.

Cat turned in the direction of the actors as she waited. They looked different off duty, no longer wearing their bodies as other people but as themselves. Although they were finally done and could relax, the various technical people in black were still scurrying around, dealing with the nest of cords and checking switches.

Brian? she heard the actress who had played Girl call out. She had changed into a pair of jeans and a tight pink shirt that strangely seemed more revealing than her nudity on stage had been. Cat had read the biographies of the actors what seemed like hundreds of times, and knew Miss Stephanie Banks who had played Girl so well was only 19. This had been her first professional acting job.

Brian! Miss Banks said again, this time with the mild triumph of having spotted her quarry. She slipped her arms around the waist of the actor who had played Boy as easily as she had in the play. He was talking to someone and smiling and he absently held up a finger to Girl as a signal to wait. She seemed impatient and gave him a look that was somewhere between adoring and exasperated which he didn’t see.

At one point Boy glanced up and caught Cat looking at him. He was extremely good-looking and she’d liked having the opportunity to simply admire his body on stage, but something about his being a real person again—albeit, one wearing nothing but pajama bottoms—made her realize staring at him was now inappropriate. She genuinely appreciated the acting job he had done, but the degree to which he aroused her she found embarrassing, so she gave him a shy smile and glanced quickly away.

According to her memorized program, Cat knew his name was Brian Smith. She wondered if it was a stage name or if anyone could have been given a name that bland. She wondered if Smith replaced something unpronounceable and made life in the public eye easier. Or maybe there really were people named Smith in the world.

The director finally wrapped up his goodbyes to the two ladies and turned his attention toward Cat. She smiled and extended a hand.

It was wonderful! she said.

He shook her hand happily. Thank you so much! I’m glad you enjoyed it.

She continued, I’m so sorry to see it end. I saw it a few times and each time I came away with something new. There were so many different themes to consider. I must have ideas for at least the next three novels based on this play.

You’re a writer? he asked with interest.

Yes, my name is Catherine Devin, I—

Catherine Devin! Well my goodness, I had no idea we had a celebrity in our midst! I knew you lived in town and I’ve always hoped I'd get introduced at a party at some point. I very much enjoyed your last radio interview a few months ago.

Cat was self-conscious but pleased. Well, thank you. I don’t know how many people actually listen to that show, but it’s nice to meet someone who does.

Oh my. Catherine Devin. I’m Tom Olsen, and I’m always looking for ways to use local talent. Your short stories in particular have such marvelous dialogue, and I wonder if you’ve ever considered adapting any of them into a play?

Well, no I don’t have any experience at that. I—

Tom Olsen gave her a sly look and smiled as he said, But life is all about new experience! How do you know if you don’t try?

Cat laughed. It was an interesting thought, actually. What would that be like? Really, I don’t know that—

Tom glanced behind her at someone and seemed as if he needed to go, but he dug around in his pocket and found his wallet and fished out a card. "I wish I could talk to you longer right now, but I have to get moving. Take my card, and please  give me a call when you have time, and give it some thought. I think you'd be an excellent playwright, and it’s something we should explore. He pressed the card into her hand, looked her straight in the eye with a smile and said, I really am glad you enjoyed the show."

Cat studied the card a moment, and then stood there in thought. She liked new projects and new challenges, and this was one that hadn’t occurred to her before. It could be interesting. Eventually she realized she was standing in people’s way backstage for no reason at all and decided to head for an exit and go back home. By the time she got there Nick was in bed. Liz was still up, but paying attention to texts on her phone.

Cat was in an odd mood. Her night out had made her happy because she loved to think and stretch her mind, and the idea of working on a play in some capacity was intriguing and new. She liked things that were new. But she also felt a strange yearning and an absence. She decided it was a kind of withdrawal. The play was over and those people would never be assembled in that way again, and the experience lived only in her memory and that depressed her. She wanted ice cream.        

That was highly unusual for Cat, but it was an unusual night so she chose to indulge herself a little. She went into her spacious kitchen that she’d had remodeled two years before, and got out a bowl and a spoon. She loved the way the kitchen had come out, with an island in the middle where they all liked to eat together while standing around. It made for a good compromise because Cat was a believer in family dinners every night and her daughter resisted it, so something about eating at a counter while standing or using a stool made it seem less strict. It accomplished the same thing for Cat so she didn’t care much. She still got decent food into her family and they were all in one place at one time to touch base with, and that was the real point, even if she never got to use her nice place settings or the expensive dining room table.

The kitchen had been the last big project on the house. They’d moved into it when Liz was five and their first house seemed too small to hold all of that pre-school level energy. Another reason they finally moved when they did was that the original place was too small for a child and a dog, and Nick was not good at living without a dog. The new house was large enough for a kennel if they wanted it. It had undergone a tragic history of remodeling mistakes, most of which involved bad carpet from the 70s and a truly unfortunate wall of textured mirrors in the living room, but Cat had plugged away at it little by little with different designers and contractors over many years, and it was finally at a stage where every room made her happy when she stepped into it, even the basement.

Cat searched in the freezer, and behind the bags of Brussels sprouts and frozen blueberries she found a container of Neapolitan ice cream. It was an arrangement of ice cream that seemed designed specifically for her little family. She didn’t care for chocolate, but that was the only flavor Nick ate. Liz liked vanilla because she always added things to her ice cream and said any other flavor got in the way of enjoying good butterscotch sauce or sprinkles or nuts. Cat liked strawberry because there was at least the illusion that something healthy was going on with some kind of fruit involved. However, Cat didn't indulge in her share often, so there were three boxes piled up, two of which contained only walls of untouched strawberry ice cream.

She decided to throw out the two older boxes and pulled out the fresh one, and set herself up at the island with a small bowl and the ice cream scoop. Cat knew she was probably right over the line into the health nut group, but she was in pretty good shape and wanted to stay that way. It seemed stupid to undo the work of decent exercise with poor food choices. That concept was difficult to impress upon Liz because she was young enough that it was hard to see any ill effect of whatever she put into her body. Cat was sure the junk food her daughter ate with her friends at every opportunity was not good for her, but there was little evidence on her energetic, healthy frame to point to, so Cat took her stand every night over dinner and hoped she was getting enough real nutrition into Liz’s body to have an impact somewhere.

She wished she could get Nick to take his health more seriously. Being a vet wasn't exactly the same as being a doctor, but every time he lectured people about how not getting their pet to exercise more was tantamount to neglect, she would give him what he thought of as the physician heal thyself look. He wasn’t terrible or anything, but she suspected he was at least a good 20 pounds heavier than when she’d met him, and she missed his once lithe frame. He was fine for the longest time, but once he hit 40, his metabolism shifted and his habits didn’t. She tried to keep junk out of the house, but she knew he ate lunch at the hamburger place near the veterinary clinic, and there were always cookies and treats at work that he was bad at resisting. It frustrated her a little that he didn’t try. She could still fit into her college jeans and she wished he could still fit into his, too.

Of course, the biggest key to the difference in their health was probably exercise, and she had to admit that he really didn’t have the kind of time for that that she did. Cat swam every day without fail. When she'd started she used to count laps, but now she